The Night of the Ties That Bind
by Gorgolo Chick
Summary: Based on the television series. West and Gordon have gotten all tied up in their work again. When all else fails, Gordon makes a small sacrifice for the cause.


The Night of the Ties That Bind

Gorgolo Chick

**Disclaimer**: No infringement is intended upon the properties owned by Warner Bros, CBS, CBS-Viacom, CBS-Paramount, CBS-Turner or any CBS affiliate. This work is not for profit.

"Watch it, Jim, about another half inch to your left and that thing is going to take a couple of fingers off." Artemus Gordon had his neck in a very uncomfortable position but held it because it allowed him to watch over his shoulder and monitor his partner's efforts to free himself from his bonds. "You need to rotate your wrist a little further."

"Artie, if I could rotate my wrists any further than this my hands could revolve!" James West pulled back away from the threat. The pair were each bound to a ring attached to a metal grill, separated by about half a foot, with their backs to one another. On Jim's side, a machine was running, with a wheel and piston-rod moving at high speed just within his reach.

"Well, then, you aren't going to be able to use that piston wheel to cut through the thongs."

"Might be worth a finger or two, if it's the only way to get out of here."

"Please, Jim, do you know how much you short some fingers would upset my sense of aesthetics?" Artie rolled his head a couple of times to relieve the tension from holding that bad position for so long. "So far we've eliminated your toe knife because even you can't get your foot close enough to your hands bound behind you this way, and you sure can't reach mine. Same thing goes for the boot heels. Now we've eliminated all the cutting surfaces I can see in the environment. What other options can we find?"

"You're sure you can't wedge your hand through the grill just a little further, to get the knife in the back of my collar?"

"Looks like I'm going to have to try again, doesn't it? It's hot enough in here; maybe I've worked up enough sweat to provide that extra bit of lubrication." Artemus rose up on his toes and twisted his arms to get one hand as high as possible before forcing it into one of the gaps in his side of the double grill.

This time it was Jim who had to crane his neck to watch his partner's progress.

"That looks about right, Artie," he informed the taller man. "I'm going to scrunch down as far as I can."

"Press back against the grill, too. There! I felt cloth. Can you tell if I touched your collar?"

"I didn't feel it if you did. I know you can get a little further; I felt you fingering my jacket last time."

"I'm working on it. Times like this, James, make a man wish he was double-jointed."

"Yeah, then you could reach the knife and we'd be out of here in no time."

"Let us not give up hope yet," Artemus suppressed a grunt of pain as he pressed harder still.

"That's it; you're touching my collar, Artie."

"I just can't… quite… get a fingertip grip on it." Artie relaxed. "What a minute, I just thought of a different angle that might work. Can you hold that position a bit longer? I'm going to have to switch hands for this."

Jim was silent for a moment. "We should have thought of that before," he responded. "Your left hand may be just a little smaller than your right, most people's are."

"True, James, my boy, quite true." Artie answered fervently. He got his left hand into the higher position, found the same gap again by the sweat, and possibly blood, on the metal. He worked into position and stretched, forcing his hand to compress beyond the point of pain.

"You're not getting any further, are you?" Jim asked after a minute.

"I'm not finished." Artie partially withdrew his hand and hooked his thumb on the edge of the gap. "Now," he muttered half under his breath. "One really hard shove, and …"

There was a crunching sound and Artie hissed through his gritted teeth.

"That's it, Artie," Jim responded as Artie's fingers pressed firmly against his collar. Now, can you get a grip on the handle?"

"I'm trying," Artie's voice held a strained note. "Got it… Now if I can just not drop it…" He slowly drew his hand back, gripping the small throwing knife carefully between his fingers. Equally slowly, he shifted position until his right hand could get a firm grip on the knife. "Okay," he breathed out a sigh of relief. "That worked; just give me a minute to cut these thongs." He shuddered as he was forced to put pressure on his left hand while accomplishing the task.

Finally the leather cut through, and Artie let the knife fall with the bits of thong, and drew his hands around in front of him. He gazed grimly at his left hand, at the way the thumb now was cocked back toward his wrist at an unlikely angle.

"There's nothing for it but to do it," he said to himself. "And the sooner the better," He gripped the thumb with his right hand and yanked.

The crunching sound came again, and this time Artie didn't manage to fully suppress his cry of pain.

"Artie?" Jim's voice was suddenly sharp. "What's going on back there?"

"Just a little… adjustment I had to make." Artie tucked his left hand into his vest and stooped to retrieve the knife. "I'll be right there."

END


End file.
